


Some Kind of Woman

by Rabble Rouser (harmony_bites)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-01
Updated: 2000-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:30:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harmony_bites/pseuds/Rabble%20Rouser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Janice Rand of the Excelsior-B remembers her old boss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Kind of Woman

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: (c) 2007 Rabble Rouser/Harmony_bites. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur nonprofit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by Paramount or any other lawful holder.
> 
> My Rand owes a few elements to Istannor’s “[Doctor’s Log No. 10](http://members.tripod.com/%7EIstannor/stories/dl10.txt)“ (which tells his story of the aftermath to “The Enemy Within” which I adopt) as well as inspiration from Jat-Sapphire’s [“Holiday Stress”](http://www.geocities.com/jat_sapphire/ST_stories/Holiday.htm) and the TOS DVD’s I got for Christmas that forced me to give this character a closer look and a more sympathetic read. My Kirk owes more than a little to my own special life-changing old boss.
> 
> Written as _**Rabble Rouser**_ , this was only the second story I ever wrote back around 1999.

God I hate anniversaries. Especially this one. Five years ago today Captain James Tiberius Kirk died saving the Enterprise B. He achieved admiral rank more than once—but everyone always thought of him as the Captain.

It was not a relationship that started well. Jeez over thirty years ago now. I wasn’t his choice for his yeoman, and at first he always seemed annoyed with me. Although to tell the truth, right from the beginning he was the type who would instantly apologize for an outburst. Once, when he saw me snapping at Yeoman Third Class Tina Lawton, he took me aside and told me to apologize. He told me that those below you in rank could never snap back so you had to be careful not to bully someone under your command.

He was an exasperating man to try to take care of. Private, proud, unwilling to complain or ask for anything—the kind that prefers to do it himself. The one thing he would complain about was my ‘hovering.’ The first look of approval he gave me was when I managed to bring hot coffee to the bridge even though the power was out in the galleys. I had used my hand phaser. For the first time he looked at me with speculation, like there might be a brain behind my blonde beehive hairdo. The man always appreciated resourcefulness.

I had never thought much about my future before I knew him. I was afraid of the prospect of my own success. You see if I never really tried, I wouldn’t have to admit I had limits—or even worse that I could be more than what I allowed myself. I had flunked out of the academy and signed up as a yeoman. I felt I had ‘bimbo’ tattooed on me and had settled for a lesser life. I thought it was enough just to be aboard a starship. My duties as a yeoman made few demands on me, and no one before him had looked beyond the hairdo and rank. I had told myself that was the way I liked it.

He kept giving me more responsibilities. More and more, I found myself working beside him and Spock supervising and training the Starship support staff and learning to become expert at wheedling supplies out of starbases and smoothing out bureaucratic snafus. I would no sooner master one skill or duty before he threw me another.

Often that would be his way. He would throw people into the deep end of the pool and force them to swim. Few ever disappointed him. He had a way of making us want to do anything to gain his respect. Your best was never good enough because he constantly raised the bar, but he left you feeling exhilarated with the trust he placed in you rather than frustrated that nothing could satisfy him.

He once left me with a small detail to organize an evacuation of thousands of people on Ceti Aurigae while the Enterprise had to be elsewhere. My first command. He grinned at me all through the debriefing like a proud parent. I couldn’t stop an answering grin. I had worked hundred-hour standard weeks for a month under impossible, depressing circumstances and had never been happier. At one point, I felt a pang of guilt about my glee over what was after all a tragedy and apologized. The captain grinned back and for the first time using my first name said. “Janice don’t apologize for feeling joy at finally feeling your strength. There’s only one kind of woman—you either believe in yourself—or you don’t—I think you finally do.”

Kirk was a gifted teacher, always able to find a way to explain something vividly and lucidly. He never just told you what to do but would explain the whys behind it. I learned how to teach and lead from how he taught me. He called it giving context. Kirk was never a martinet. In an emergency he wanted instant obedience—for us to be an extension of himself. But when time permitted, every day with him on the bridge would be like taking an advanced seminar at the academy as he would ask for opinions and questions and explain alternate strategies and how things could have been done better.

Before long, we became as one wag put it the “yeast” of Starfleet. Command would give us their prodigies and problem children. We would take them in and rotate them out and before that first five-year mission was over there wasn’t a ship in the fleet that didn’t have quite a few officers trained on the Enterprise. Today there’s no captain or executive officer on the Federation’s ships that didn’t serve under Kirk at one time or another. Each ship used to have their own insignia. Now in his honor all of Starfleet wears the old Enterprise’s two-pronged badge.

I remember when we had to take the ship’s shuttle to a diplomatic conference on Palova Prime and he asked me to take the helm. I told him I didn’t know how. My past commanding officers would have let that pass but not Kirk. He said it would be a couple of days until we reached the conference and that everyone who served aboard a starship should know the basics. He told me to come up and take Riley’s place at the controls and patiently began to teach me.

Before long I was enjoying myself, and I saw a sidelong look like he had caught me at something. “What?” I challenged. He gave me one of those lopsided smiles that always made my heart skip a beat. “I always enjoy it when you allow people to see you shine.” On the way back Riley went to the rear of the shuttle to catch some shut-eye. The captain complained he was tired and had a headache and handed the controls off to me, leaned into his seat and was seemingly instantly asleep. The man wouldn’t complain or go off duty if he were suffering a concussion. I knew he was doing it to force me to take responsibility and underline that I was in control and that he trusted me. He certainly was awake before we had to take her into a landing in the shuttlebay. After that, he had Sulu drill me on the bridge helm and navigation stations during beta shift until I could be certified. We would trade off. It paid off when I suddenly found myself taking the helm during the PSI 2000 incident.

It had another payoff. Sulu and I became friends. Uhura had been a friend from the beginning and soon the three of us could often be found in rec room six playing cards or just trading ship’s gossip. You would think Uhura would be the bad one with all she knew but she would be close-mouthed as a priest on the confessional about anything she heard over the com lines. It was Sulu who was the worst offender. And after the rumor about Christine started circulating, I drew her into the magic circle—after I threatened to knock Sulu’s teeth out if he teased her. You see it had gotten around the ship she was in love with the untouchable Mr. Spock. I didn’t find that funny—I didn’t find it funny at all.

What did people say behind my back? Was it obvious to everyone how I felt? Oh yes I knew how Chris felt and feared titters behind my own back. Kirk might as well have been a Vulcan for he was just as unreachable. Or so I had thought. Once after the PSI 2000 virus had run its course I caught him looking at me with the same look of longing I saw in my own mirror. I thought about it later with euphoria—one that was short lived.

The man of my daydreams assaulted me in a caricature of all my fantasies. Out came all the words I had hoped to hear. He called me beautiful. Said we no longer had to pretend about what we both felt. That I was “too much woman to ignore.” And instead of it being over wine, I could smell the Saurian brandy on his breath. Instead of the gentleness and compassion I had seen him give to so many, he brought me his brutality. I drew blood, and I was glad. I was beyond feeling betrayed or disappointed. All I could think of was what did I expect? That he admired my mind?

The next few hours were the most excruciating of my life. Having to repeat what I experienced before a man who looked nothing but hurt and bewildered and a Mr. Spock who coldly observed me as if I was the accused. I told them I would have told no one if Fisher hadn’t witnessed the assault and believe me I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t have expected to be believed even with a computer confirming my responses as truthful.

The whispers would have followed me everywhere. There’s the woman who ended the golden boy’s career. Spock’s explanation was that there had to be an imposter. Only Spock could come up with such a loyal if ludicrous explanation to protect the Captain. Anyone else would have thrown the Captain into the brig. His guilt was the obvious and “logical” conclusion. And then my mortification when I found out that the ludicrous explanation was true. And then that it wasn’t quite true. The man who brought me his lusts wasn’t Kirk but a part of Kirk split off by a transporter accident. One he had folded back into himself and intended to keep buried—deep.

On the bridge I tried to bring it up one more time. I told him the “imposter” had told me the truth. Or rather I reminded him. I wanted to tell him that I understood. That I forgave him. He cut me off. The whole incident might have ended there except for Spock’s little comment. Spock asked if I didn’t think “the imposter had some interesting qualities.” I think what mortified me most was the thought that if he could say this to me then there couldn’t be a person on the ship who didn’t know how I felt about the captain and who didn’t think it was all my fault.

Soon after, the Captain asked to meet with me in the briefing room. I think he suspected that after what had happened I wouldn’t feel comfortable with him alone in either his quarters or mine for a while. For the first time, I heard his voice coated in self-loathing. It’s something I recognized all too easily from my own inner voice. I was appalled to hear him offer to face charges for what he had done. He said that there was no use pretending now that I didn’t know who or what the imposter was and that he took full responsibility. I told him that I would never do anything to hurt him.

He told me he didn’t deserve such generosity and asked if I wouldn’t feel more comfortable assigned as someone else’s yeoman or if I wanted a transfer off the ship. He had put his career and his ship in my hands and now he gave me the power of absolution. I told him I forgave him. I wanted to tell him I would forgive him anything. I think the only thing that stopped me was that I didn’t want to add to his burdens. I sometimes wonder what might have happened if I had told him what I felt, for the one thing he couldn’t have pretended was that he felt nothing for me—even if only lust. I sensed though that the best I could do for him was offer him the pretense of a pretense. And frankly I was afraid of how he might answer. So I stayed silent.

He didn’t end it there. “Janice. One last thing you said is troubling me. When you were telling your story in sickbay, you said that after all I was the captain and that if Fisher hadn’t seen what happened you would never have said a word. I don’t care if you’re dealing with an Admiral—no man has a right to lay a hand on you against your will. If anyone ever does again, I want you to scream loud and clear and I’ll back you all the way no matter who it is. I’ve already spoken to Lt. Mina Roth in security. I want you to meet with her and work out a schedule to learn some basic techniques of self-defense. When you feel ready, Sulu or I can show you some moves to take down a stronger opponent. I don’t want you feeling vulnerable or depending on someone coming by to protect you.”

Not long afterwards, it was Mr. Spock who was at my door. He said that rape as a human knew it did not exist on Vulcan. He said that the captain had made it clear in terms he could understand what I had experienced and that he wanted to apologize to me for his comment on the bridge. The Spock I served with on the original Enterprise was famously known for calling such common courtesies as thank-yous and apologies “illogical.” He looked so contrite for once that I tried to hug him. Something that finally caused him to beat a hasty retreat. After that it was easy. No whispers at my back. Just a firm and warm support enclosing us both from the whole crew.

Having bourne Jim’s brutality, I was undone by his compassion. On one of our next missions, we were both struck by a virus that disfigured as it killed. Vain brat that I was and scared for my life, I admitted my terror and he held me with all the gentleness I could wish for—and not a hint of desire. The wolf and the lamb. It seems I was great at bringing out one or the other but not the whole man who could bring me both his passion and his tenderness.

I’m not a masochist. My Spanish grandmother used to quote the traditional saying about unrequited love. Translated it means that it takes one nail to drive out another. But I couldn’t imagine finding someone else to love with him before my eyes. So I asked for a transfer—and he promised me one without demur. I thought he might have objected if not for his lingering guilt over—let me say it for once and for all—over the attempted rape. His command crew couldn’t be separated from him over a decades-long period even with the enticement of independent command—but I slipped easily out of the family.

Well not quite. Kirk managed one last gift. I didn’t transfer to another ship. Kirk had recommended I be accepted into the academy once again—into the Officers’ Candidate Program. For months I thought it was guilt—even a payoff. Until I saw that the date of the recommendation preceded the transporter accident. It was a kind of atonement to go into engineering and make the transporter my specialty.

And there I was years later finally back on the refitted Enterprise—her Transporter Chief—and my first act was to preside over a transporter accident that killed Jim’s wife Lori. I wanted to run again. But this time the Captain wouldn’t let me. He told me it wasn’t my fault but his—he had given the order to use the transporter even though Scotty had told him it wasn’t ready. But everyone would believe he held me responsible if I transferred off now. He said I needed to “get back on the horse.” So I stayed, and we fell into an easy if a bit distant friendship. After all I was safe. I had followed my grandmother’s advice and married and had children. “Un clavo saca otro clavo.” And I never told Jim Kirk or my husband who I really loved and will love to my dying day.

So now I’m serving again with Sulu. Captain Hikaru Sulu. This time as part of his command team. Commander Janice Rand, First Officer of the Starship Excelsior. Tonight Captain Sulu and I and a few others here who served on the Enterprise will get together in remembrance and dare our own special ghost to attend the party we hold each year at this time. God will the pain ever be less fresh?

There are those who called Captain Kirk insensitive to women—even sexist because of exaggerated tales of his sexual conquests. Those who say that never served with him. They forget he’s the one man in the history of the universe who could say he knows exactly what it’s like to be a woman—not that I’m thanking Lester for any sensitivity training. I couldn’t have asked for a better mentor.

And they forget one small but very significant act Starfleet women everywhere are grateful for. His first act as Chief of Operations was to get rid of those damn miniskirts.

Thanks boss—for everything.

**The End.**


End file.
